


I'm a Criminal, Not a Sleaze (TALK ME DOWN)

by MaruEatsFalafel



Series: Blue Neighborhood [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Action, Backstory, Eames-centric (Inception), Gen, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Italian Mafia, Some angst, eames on the run, job gone wrong, mentions of rape/non-con of teen oc, mentions of sexual abuse and assault involving ocs, there's a bad guy but it's an oc, which author knows nothing about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 08:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20561219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaruEatsFalafel/pseuds/MaruEatsFalafel
Summary: Eames decides he's not letting his mark off easy. He misses Arthur too much for that.





	I'm a Criminal, Not a Sleaze (TALK ME DOWN)

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all I'm on a roll. This fic is just Eames being a badass and helping out a kiddo in need. Arthur is barely mentioned, it's just some Eames backstory. I don't want to spoil, so I have a detailed trigger warning in the end notes, please take care of yourselves.

July 29, 2000

Running away had taken and given Charles Richard Eames II everything. Three years since Eames dropped his SIS Project Somnacin Prodigy identity down the drain (stolen PASIV in hand), and ran to reassume civilian life. Two years since he’d fallen in love with a genius and left him to find an empty flat because a Project Somnacin rival recognised him at the bar he’d been working, and ratted him out. This far out and Eames was still on the run. Sure MI6 may have stopped looking when Adam Grayson’s obituary published in every minor paper in Devon, but it turns out living life as a renaissance era art forager and Sneaky Dream Spy (as one of the first of his kind, Eames took the liberty to name his own profession) came with its own enemies.

This job was supposed to be straight forward: get into the head of an Italian mob boss’s son to find out if he was really sleeping with the daughter of a rival mobster, and get out. Really, it hadn’t even required dreamwork for Eames to find out the son was not into any woman. One day of tailing him revealed that Antonio never looked twice at his Daddy’s rival’s princess: the creep was skimming off the top of his father’s “good stuff” and using it to lure teen boys into his bed. From the moment Eames watched a dazed teenager stumble out of the men’s room of a seedy dive while his mark slipped out the back door, he knew there was no way he could make it out of this one unscathed.

Firstly, there was the fact that there’s no way Daddy dearest wouldn’t shoot the messenger if the memo was that his heir is stealing from his cartel, is homosexual, and is sexually assaulting teenagers. Secondly, if “The Boss” didn’t kill Eames, Antonio would. And most importantly, Eames was far too tempted to just shoot the sick bastard himself and hop the next flight to Kenya. Honestly that last option was his favourite, but it would mean being locked in a safe house MIA for his mum’s birthday, and then she would be the one killing him whenever he resurfaced. So Eames had taken the next best option. 

He had called up “The Boss” and given him a time frame for extraction, as if nothing was amiss and Eames would take Antonio under for subconscious sleuthing. Then, he tracked down the kid from the bar. It was easy enough. All he’d had to do was tell the bouncer he was a newbie there to cover his break, then wait for the boy, and haul him out for having a fake ID. The kid was lanky, maybe six feet tall, but not more than fifty kilos soaking wet. He had slouched low as Eames dragged him out of the dive by the collar of his jeans jacket, making himself as small as possible.

Eames had tugged the boy away from the noise and eyes of the club, to an all-night diner several blocks away, and pushed him down into a booth, taking the seat opposite him. “You drink coffee?” He asked, accent a subtle Brooklyn. 

The kid’s head snapped up, looking at Eames for the first time. He was pale, with freckles scattered across his long nose, and sandy brown hair. His brown eyes were dim, tired, and resigned. He shrugged, then nodded slowly.

Eames hailed the waitress with a short wave and a quirk of the lips, she stumbled over her feet in her haste to reach their table. She had leaned forward, batting her eyelashes at Eames. “Good evening boys, what can I get for you two tonight?”

“Black coffee and short stack for me,” The Forger smiled charmingly. He motioned at the kid, “what do you want lil’ bro?”

To his credit the boy showed no surprise at being referred to as lil’ bro by a random bloke who was a fake bouncer. He just shrugged and mumbled out a, “coffee please.” He glanced at Eames, “and waffles?” he added hopefully.

Eames ginned, “right, so two coffees, waffles, and a short stack.”

The woman smiled, “Alright, coming right up boys.” With a wink at Eames she turned and headed back into the kitchen.

Eames glanced around, the diner was currently empty besides the two of them. He leaned across the table and said lowly, “You can call me Rick, and for as long as we’re in here you’re my kid brother. Got it?” Eames waited for a nod of agreement. “Excellent, you got a name?”

“Eddy,” mumbled the kid. Eames leaned back into his seat. 

“Eddy, mom’s not gonna be happy I caught you sneaking out again. ‘Specially not if I tell her what you’ve been putting up your nose.” Eames frowned, he didn’t have to do too much acting to sell the concerned older brother shtick. 

The bell rang and a guy in a trucker hat trundled in and plopped down a booth away.

Eames lowered his voice, as if protecting their conversation from eavesdroppers. “I’m worried about you. I saw you the other night. You had a drink, a guy asked you to dance, you left, and Tony put something in your drink. You don’t remember going to the men’s with him do you?”

“How—”

“I used to bartend. I’ve seen it all before. Now, how would you feel about getting that fucker off the streets for good?”

Eddy blinked, dazed. The waitress reappeared. “Okay, I’ve got coffees,” she placed two mugs on the table with one hand and poured coffee from the pot in her other, and the food will be up in a flash.”

Eddy pulled a mug towards himself and took several large gulps, headless of the temperature. Eames smiled and grabbed his own for a sip, trying not to cringe at its weak, but bitter taste. “I just go out to get drunk and kiss guys. I promise that’s it, Rick, please don’t tell mom,” Eddy said, after he’d set down empty his mug.

This kid was good. Obviously used to lying and deception. Smart. Eames sighed. “Food’s coming, we can talk about this later Ed, okay?”

“Sure, okay,” Eddy scowled, the perfect picture of a chastened kid. He mumbled a thanks when the waitress placed his plate of waffle in front of him, and then proceeded to stuff his face while Eames picked at his own pancakes.

Once they’d finished and Eames had paid for their food, they began a slow walk down the main road. “Do you have somewhere to go? People waiting up for you?” Eames asked quietly.

“Not really no. Foster family doesn’t care, long as I don’t get arrested.”

The words sent a pang through Eames’s chest. The words were remarkably similar to what Arthur would have said at Eddy’s age, fuck, Arthur who’d never been where Eddy was, but came so close, so often. “How old are you, Eddy?”

The kid tensed, and slowed, face going blank. Eames could almost see the warning bells chiming in his head. How many men had asked that before taking him home? How many hadn’t? How many didn’t care? “Sixteen in October.”

“Fuck, that bastard,” Eames growled, blood beginning to boil. Eddy cringed and shrunk away from Eames on the sidewalk, clearly unsure where the anger was directed. Noticing, the Brit took a deep breath. “Look,” he said, “I may be a criminal, but I’m not a sleaze. I’m not interested in trying anything with you, Eddy, I just want to give Antonio what’s coming for him. Want to help?”

The next day Eddy had knocked on the door of Eames’s rented efficiency. “Okay, so what’s our plan?”

Eames grinned.

The plan was simple, teach Eddy some basic self-defense, strap some knives on him just in case, get him set up with a new life—birth certificate, passport, flush savings account, older brother/legal guardian Richard Klein—and position him where Antonio will be unable to resist. Then, tip off the NYPD about the cocaine in Antonio’s glove box. They managed to time it so, a fully coherent, Eddy was shoving the creep away when the cops pulled up. Antonio was arrested for possession of illegal drugs and unlicensed weapons, and for multiple counts of sexual assault.

Everything had gone smoothly until “The Boss” showed up as the squad cars were peeling away from the curb, Antonio in tow. Eames pushed Eddy down just as the shot rang out. “Run, kiddo!” He screamed, only just managing to maintain the accent of his cover, through the pain blooming in his shoulder.

Eames pressed his left hand to the throb of blood from his right shoulder and ran, trying to make cover in the open alley between two brick buildings. Another shot rang out and he ducked, but not soon enough. Pain seared through his head, another graze, and Eames fell to his knees. Vision blurred, he felt hands grab him roughly by the shoulders. They pulled him to a dumpster and propped him there. “The Boss” would send someone to dispose of the body later, now he had to run before a new round of cops showed up due to gunfire.  
Eames listened to the retreating footsteps, and reached into his coat pocket with his good arm. He pulled out his mobile. He lie slumped in the alley, delirious, dizzy, he dialed the numbers from memory, hoping and dreading that he might hear Arthur’s voice again. Once more.

The phone rang thrice before going to voicemail: “Arthur Levi. Leave a message.” Eames’s hand shook holding the phone to his ear as blood rolled down the side of his face from somewhere on his scalp. Really, it would have been wise to just call for help, it wasn’t too late to treat. It didn’t matter, though, help didn’t mean much if Eames couldn’t hear his darling’s voice again. Letting out a gasped sob, he hung up before blacking out.

Eddy found him there out cold an hour later, smart as he was, he picked up Eames’s mobile and dialed 911. An ambulance came to the aid of Richard and Edmund Klein, rich orphaned brothers visiting New York from Seattle on spring break, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Eames barely managed to make it back to London in time for his mum’s birthday. He brought Eddy with him, claiming he was giving Margi a replacement son for her birthday. That joke hadn’t landed well his mother, but she adored Eddy all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic Eames gets a serial rapist arrested with the help of a teenager who was one of the survivors. No rape or sexual assault is depicted in the, but it is touched on and stated that the teen was drugged into non-consensual sex. Bad guy gets got in the end.


End file.
